


Onward

by Rotblume



Series: Forward [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Developing Relationship, Drunken Voice Messages, Established Relationship, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mention of Suicide (abstract), Movie Reference, Moving In Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 21:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15228699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rotblume/pseuds/Rotblume
Summary: Five small steps Peter and Stiles took together.





	1. Trust

Life had been quite good to them, so it was time to run out of luck. Stiles wasn’t really sure yet how it had happened or even what exactly had happened, but Peter had disappeared and, by now, more than a week had passed without any sign of him. While he rationally knew that no, this wasn’t killing him, no matter how much it hurt, and yes, life would go on and he could deal with it, the situation was as fucked up as it could possibly be and it wasn’t helped any by the fact that he had begun noticing the pitying glances the others sent his way.

Isaac was cautiously keeping quiet about it for he didn’t knew the older man good enough, but Scott had started insisting they should let it rest, that Peter would turn up on his own time if he ever decided to do so. Lydia, never quite approving of his relationship, but curiously observing the changes they both went through together and obviously at least satisfied with that, was smart enough to keep her thoughts to herself after Stiles had exploded once at his best mate’s comments. After some persuasion she had been willing to help him figure out what was going on and was subtly trying to cheer him up.

Even Derek, though, who had been growing closer to his uncle again, couldn’t help the doubts starting to creep into his mind, probably expecting to be hurt yet again by betrayal or loss. At least he was able to confirm what Stiles already knew, that Peter hadn’t left the apartment in any hurry, for fear or injury, either way. He hadn’t smelled anything unusual, neither traces of blood, nor recent high amounts of stress-related hormones.

In the apartment everything was at its appropriate place, no signs of a struggle whatsoever. On the table in the kitchen, however, there lay the shopping list that Peter had written before he had disappeared. While he had been at it, he had called Stiles, their last conversation, asking whether he wanted any sweets. He always tended to forget those lists when he went, but apparently scribbling things down once was enough to remember because his partner always managed to get everything he had noted, so nothing new there, no hint to what might have happened.

Stiles had gone to all the stores Peter normally frequented, practically interrogating the cashiers for information, showing photos until one lady remembered. She couldn’t tell him anything more than that she had seen him on that last day, but he had thanked her profusely.

Without the help of the law, his father wasn’t able to get his hands on the shop’s tapes and Stiles was trying to avoid an official investigation in case Peter’s disappearance had more to do with the supernatural world, the chances of that being very high, knowing him. But it was good to know that Peter had been unharmed when he was last seen, even that he had gone grocery shopping was a relief.

That supported his theory that Peter hadn’t had any intent to just vanish from the face of the earth. It was a concept he had derived from what he knew the police was taught. Apparent suicides, for example, oftentimes still led to some kind of investigation because possible plans for the future from the victim, like searching for a job, wanting to move or interest in a relationship with someone else, were a contradiction to the wish to end their life. And so was your normal grocery shopping to disappearing without a trace, in his opinion, though maybe on another scale.

But even if, in the end, Peter had disappeared willingly, had gone into hiding and was just keeping a low profile, he would have told him, Stiles was absolutely convinced of that. Maybe not instantly, maybe not directly, but he would have found a way to give him some sort of message.

Given the circumstances, he had no clue what was going on or where Peter might be. Without much evidence to begin with, most leads hadn’t brought forth anything new. Stiles wasn’t making any progress and despair had latched itself onto his spine, hunching his shoulders and bringing with it a headache he couldn’t get rid of.

He almost wasn’t surprised when he heard scratching below his window from where he was huddled in his self made blanket fort, ridiculous as it was. If Peter wanted to come in, he’d climb up, but his mind seemingly liked to play tricks on him. Or maybe he was dreaming, having fallen asleep while wallowing in self-pity.

Sighing, Stiles crawled out from within his blanket fort and went to the window, ready to shoo away his hallucinations or maybe just the stray cat that liked to mark its territory there since Peter had started using the front the door instead. He was not ready to face a giant wolf, staring back at him with unnaturally blue eyes, though.

He really hated himself a little bit then, for the hope suddenly rushing through his body, winding around his heart and squeezing his lungs. For his burning eyes and the words stuck in his throat. He sounded almost choked, voice breaking over a simple name, when he finally managed to open his mouth. “Peter?”

Whimpering, the wolf raised one of its huge paws and placed it against the wall. With its head slightly tilted to the side and its ears perked up, it looked like an over-sized dog.

If Stiles almost broke his neck in his haste to run down the stairs and get out of the house, nobody was there to see it. So what? He simply wasn’t very good at suffering alone. He skidded to a halt just in front of the animal, arms flailing, feet freezing on the cold grass. “Dammit, Peter! What happened?”

Stiles cautiously took a step forward, not exactly hesitating, but approaching with his hands raised a little bit in what he hoped was a calming gesture. Once Peter had trusted him enough to share this with him, it hadn’t taken him long to realize that as a wolf he perceived his surroundings slightly differently than he did as a human, even his thought process following somewhat other patterns.

He didn’t know why his partner had assumed this form now, but it mattered little in comparison to the joy at having him back at all, whatever his appearance. Thus, he crouched down and held one of his hands out, a breathless chuckle escaping him when a wet nose gently pushed against his palm, then brushed over his wrist and warm breath tickled his skin.

“Okay. That’s good, I can work with this.” He let out a relieved sigh and nudged the animal’s head up, til it looked him in the eyes. “Do you want to come up to my room?” He stood up and stepped aside and the wolf walked ahead, so he took that as a good sign, not quite sure what he would have done otherwise. Once they were there, though, he regretted having asked as it glanced between Stiles and his blanket fort. He cleared his throat, somewhat embarrassed. “Don’t look at me like that. Wait here.”

He rushed into his bathroom and closed the door with most likely more force than was strictly necessary, before leaning heavily against it. Maybe he was just imagining things, he thought, staring at his ashen, trembling reflection in the mirror. He splashed some cold water on his face, trying to focus on something other than the chaos he was feeling in that moment. When he stepped out of the bathroom again, he was half prepared to find noone there.

As it was, two glowing blue eyes gazed at him from within the darkness of the blanket fort so Stiles crawled into the literal wolf’s den. It was a tight fit, since he tried to give the animal as much space as possible, and if they wound up curled together there on the floor between all the pillows and blankets, after all, Stiles would blame it on Peter.

It wasn’t long before he started running his fingers through the soft fur on the animal’s back, trying to loosen the tight muscles underneath while he attempted to get some answers out of his still transformed partner. After a few simple yes or no questions along the lines of ‘Are you voluntarily keeping this form?’, ‘So there are no Hunters or other werewolves involved?’, ‘Was it another supernatural creature then?’ that become more specific the closer he got to the core of the matter, he was rewarded with a low growl and narrowed eyes at the mention of a certain witch they had the misfortune to be acquainted with.

Apparently that bitch had been quite adamant about having been betrayed by them during a previous deal and used Peter as a way to vent her frustrations. Stiles was only comforted by the fact that the other one believed it to be nothing more than a temporary spell that would eventually fade on its own. Nonetheless, he was terribly upset by what had happened and that he still wasn’t able to help.

His partner sat up then and thrust his head against his shoulder, almost knocking him over with the force, and he wrapped his arms around the wolf’s neck, hiding his face in the thick fur and blinking away regret and residual fear and so much more. He waited for some kind of sign that Peter didn’t approve, that this was too much for him in his current form, already imprisoned in an animal’s body as he was, much the same way he had been caged in his mind during the coma, but instead he only snuggled closer, cold snout pressing against his collarbone.

“Don’t leave me like that ever again”, Stiles begged with a strangled voice. “You hear me?” He pulled back, just a bit, to look into the electric blue eyes still so familiar to him. “I was hoping, no, I knew you’d return. I love you”, he said, deliberately, his tongue a springboard for every syllable. 

Communication wasn’t as difficult as it once had been between them like this, but, then again, Peter was not only very eloquent if only he chose to be, no, he had also always been able to express himself rather well through looks. Well, no one could understand this fond eyeroll or that irritated huff the wrong way and if his smug grin showed a bit more teeth than usual, it wasn’t as if Stiles would complain, just glad to be able to tell what the other one was thinking.

He repeated his words many a time over the next hours, as he turned off the lights to go to sleep in hopes of finally getting a good night's rest, over hot cocoa at midnight after a nightmare that just had to disturb him, it absolutely didn’t matter where, some small part of him, possibly stupidly childish or just hopelessly romantic, hoping that maybe this fairytale’s curse could be broken by true love, too. Admitting it was the most joyous thing he’d ever done and he was incredibly grateful he could even still do so with the essential audience present. Still, he looked his partner in the eyes and prayed, heart thumping wildly, that he’d turn to him and say -

“I love you, too, Stiles.”

 

Later, much later, after he had had the others apologize for ever doubting them, Peter offered what he hadn’t been able to convey without words of his meeting with the witch, a deep frown on his face all the while. “The old hag said: ‘if the beast can learn to love, his beauty might just return to him.’ I’m still not sure whether she actually meant you in some bizarre version of ‘La Belle et la Bête’, if this was some kind of threat, or whether she was implying the transformation.”

“So, your reassurance back then about it being non-permanent was merely based on some weak assumption? Good to know.” Stiles sighed exasperatedly, not yet able to truly be angry with his partner after all that had happened. “Well, I think she was just envious. You know, of your love and your beauty.”

“Hey, I am just as beautiful when I’m a wolf”, the older one exclaimed theatrically.

He had to admit, however, he wasn’t convinced all of the indignation was faked and chuckled lightly, “Yes, you are. Never doubt that. And never doubt my love.”

The other man grumbled, “I don’t -”

“Peter. You just said yourself that this magic was connected to your feelings, or your thoughts more likely. At least it was supposed to be the case. How many times did I have to tell you for you to believe me, for the spell to revoke itself?”


	2. Confidence

The very first thing Stiles noticed, as he blinked his eyes open sometime around noon the day after their School Prom, was the distinct lack of messages on his mobile. Admittedly, considering he had spent most of the evening and night with his friends, that shouldn’t be as much of a surprise to him as it was, but, then again, he had come to expect the odd message from Peter.

At times it was a simple sentence telling him that the man had missed him after he hadn’t spent the night, other times he was informed about what delicious breakfast would await him once he got up and joined him in the kitchen and sometimes it was even a more or less subtle compliment along the lines of how sweet he looked when asleep, usually with a blurry picture of him in the dim light of the bedside lamp attached to it. He still hadn’t decided how to feel about these last ones, every time having to fight the urge to just delete the photo while desperately trying to suppress the deep red blush crawling across his skin.

But fact was, there was no new message and that left him feeling more uneasy than Stiles could possibly explain or that he even had any right to be, the headache from the glaringly bright screen light maybe aside. Anyway, that headache had probably more to do with the unhealthy amount of alcohol that had somehow found its way to him the night before, but that was another matter entirely, wasn’t it?

No, apparently not, he realized as he opened his chat with Peter and saw several voice messages. Voice messages he had sent, all of them received and heard, but none of them answered. He was pretty certain he didn’t want to know what he had said. After all, it was enough of a sign that he couldn’t even remember sending them, right?

But, of course, curiosity had always been one of Stiles’ many weaknesses, so, with trembling hands, he pressed the play button of the first message, closing his eyes and waiting with bated breath for what couldn’t be anything good. Static was the first thing he heard, then hushed conversations and drunken laughter and dull music in the background. He almost missed when his wasted self started talking.

“Peteyyy, it’s meee! Ya know, your boooyyyfriend. The adorable, incred’bly attractive and ‘stonishingly smart one, in case ya were wonderin’. Well, nooow that that’s cleary, how are you doin’ this lovely ev’ning? … What? Oh dearie me, Scotty boy over here says ’s already night. Well, didn’t think that thruu …”

Obviously not. What on Earth had he been thinking? What in the world had the others been thinking, letting him do something so decidedly stupid? Damn it, he couldn’t imagine what Peter had to have been thinking when listening to that crap. Had be actually been trying to flirt with him? Not so smart that one. The attempt had been even more pathetic than his sober ones normally were.

Either way, there were another three messages waiting to be heard by their creator. By now, Stiles was even more unwilling than before, but it could hardly get worse, could it? No, better stop thinking about the chance of that happening. Before he could possibly change his mind, he quickly started the next voice message. Only half an hour later his voice sounded even rougher, most likely hoarse from all the shouting.

“‘Kayy, so the others finally went back to the party. Not that they aren’t great company, they are, but - well, I guess I’m just not such great company at the moment. Ya know, they’ve all got somebody to dance with ‘n’ lean on ‘n’ talk to ‘n’ laugh with ‘n’ I should be happy for them and it’s fucked up that I’m not, ‘cause I’ve got you, but you’re not here and I’m rambling again when I should be in there with my friends, some of the people closest to me, and celebrate that I’ve survived this long, that I’ve made it this far despite drugs and werewolves ‘n’ all that shit and actually got some good grades, as well, but you aren’t here and I already said that, didn’t I? Sorry, for that last message, btw, the pups told me I was reeking of loneliness ‘n’ I should just leave ya a message and get it over with, so, yeah - I better stop this right now.”

Oh gosh, it could get worse, so much worse. He wasn’t supposed to sound this depressed on his last night as a student at the BHHS and, what the hell, had that been a choked up sob at the end there? He could only hope that no one else would ever learn of these messages. It was awful enough that Peter had had to hear that. Well, no, what was more awful was that Stiles had to look him in the eyes at some point or another after this disaster.

He had to get this over with so he’d at least know what he was feeling embarrassed about when he couldn’t avoid the unavoidable confrontation any longer, which, let’s get that straight, he’d be trying to do for as long as possible. Dreading what would come next, Stiles therefore played the next message, sent another half an hour later, worrying his lip. And, yep, there it was, he was definitely crying in this one, slurred voice even harder to understand.

“Fuck this. Ya know what, Peter, I hate you, I really hate you right now, ‘cuz this should be one of the best days o’ my life according ta movies ‘n’ fairy tales an’ instead I’m sittin’ here in ta dark, freezin’ ma ass off, wasting my time hoping you’d magically appear in front of me or some such BS when I know you won’t and no, this got nuthin’ ta do with the shots o’ whiskey I just drowned for courage, this is all Stiles Stilinski just for you, you who is above this childish crap, ‘cause I asked ya to come and ya declined. You fucking declined, so here you’ve got your fair share of me for the night. If ya didn’t wanna come with me, ya could’ve just a’ well told me straight to ma face, ‘stead of fabricatin’ some petty story ‘bout how it’d be strange with the two of us goin’ there together, ya’ know, like the couple we are. Get it? We’re a goddamn couple, have been for long enough to screw the frickin’ age difference, for god’s sake, an’ I wanna be with ya, ‘kay, I wanna spend time with ya ‘n’ be by your side, no matter wha’ the others think, ‘cuz they know nothin’ an’ I really dun care ‘bout nobody but ya, and yet ya ain’t here. You’re not here, Peter.”

Fuck this, indeed. No wonder Peter hadn’t answered to any of the voice messages. This was a catastrophe level twelve out of ten and he suddenly regretted having taken his mobile with him to that dreadful prom. Then again, he was texting him more often than anyone else and knew Peter’s phone number by heart, asleep, backwards and translated into letters from the respective buttons, as well, so he would’ve probably found some way to contact him, either way, phone or not, drunk or not.

Who knew, maybe this was all just a horrendous, alcohol-induced nightmare and he’d wake up hungover, but still in a relationship. Stiles buried his head in his pillow, blindly tapping on the display of his mobile, hoping and fearing equally he’d hit the play button for that last ominous message. What couldn’t be changed, couldn’t be changed and this was the shortest of all messages, no twenty minutes after the last one, so maybe it’d turn out better than the rest of them. It would at least put an end to his misery.

“Just so ya know, in case you’ll even listen to this, I’m leavin’. Dunno where I’ll be goin’, but there ain’t many places to go, right? Guess, you wouldn’t exactly welcome me with open arms, so there’s that. Whatever, I just wanted ta say that I love you.”

And then he saw it, a flash from that morning, of him practically stumbling into the Sheriff’s station and calling out for his Dad in a choked-up voice. That would explain how he’d gotten into his bed after all and with all of his limbs no less. Smelling the alcohol on his clothes, he felt almost as ashamed as he had when crashing into his father’s embrace just a few hours prior.

Stiles cringed when he finally became aware of the rustle and bustle in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes carrying up to his room. Well, it wasn’t as if the world would actually stop turning for him, though that would definitely help with the nausea. But, nope, he’d have to face people again and the sooner the better, right? Stiles repeatedly told himself that, until he was finally able to crawl his way out from under his blanket.

He didn’t shower or even change his clothes. He’d do that once he’d had a nice strong coffee and he was pretty sure he hadn’t looked much better the night before from what he had been able to gather through the voice messages, so his father wouldn’t suffer from a heart attack, either. Then again, he didn’t even dare glance into the mirror before making his way down, so he might just look like he felt.

Stiles cautiously called out for his dad when the noise suddenly stopped, bracing himself, waiting for him to mention the prom. He was not, however, prepared to see the reason for his hangover. He stopped dead in his tracks in the doorframe when he realized it wasn’t his dad standing in front of the coffee machine.

He seriously considered fleeing then, just one tiny step backwards and one step to the side, like a dance, he thought wryly, and he’d be hidden behind the corner. He could still pretend not to have noticed the werewolf. He could still pretend his love life wasn’t about to -

“- finished.”

“What?”

Stiles was somewhat concerned for his lack of attention, seeing how he had been doing just fine without his Adderall for a few months now. He was even more concerned, though, for the lack of emotion in that voice. By now, none other than Peter Hale had moved to sit at the kitchen table.

“Your coffee.” The older one tilted his head. “I said it’s finished.”

While a part of him just wanted to look at the other man and commit his image to memory, Stiles couldn’t stop staring at the mug, his favourite mug to be exact, standing innocently on the table. He also couldn’t help thinking that this was probably nothing more than a last polite gesture before the big talk. He wasn’t quite convinced it could be called a fight what with all the one-sided ranting from his part.

“Stiles.”

He dragged his gaze up, only then noticing the weird position the werewolf held himself in, his arms spread in some bizarre gesture. “Peter?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “You effectively spit into my voicemail that you didn’t expect me to want you any longer. Or rather, let me quote you, ‘welcome you with open arms’. I want you to get rid of that utterly ridiculous notion this instant.” 

Stiles moved hesitantly, but once he had slipped into the warm hug, he found he could already breathe easier and it wasn’t only due to the black veins he could see from the corners of his eyes, taking care of most of the effects of the last night. He took a moment to bury his nose in his partner’s shoulder, letting the familiar scent soothe him, calming his racing heartbeat and shutting the voices in his head out.

“I’m sorry. For everything I said. Well, everything apart from I love you, because that is still true”, he mumbled into soft fabric, not quite willing to let go enough to see the expression on Peter’s face.

“Why are your sorry? Most of what you said actually sounds rather nice if you think twice about it, you know, the wanting to be by my side for instance.” A soft chuckle ruffled Stiles’ hair, tickling his skin. “No. I am sorry. Very much so.” The werewolf sighed, “I really didn’t think that this would mean so much to you. I assumed that, if anything, it would have been easier for you without all the questions and glances, but I was quite apparently wrong.” Peter was loosening his grip, leaning back a bit. “Please, look at me, dear.” The other one waited until he had glumly raised his eyes, but there was the smallest hint of a smile on the man’s lips. “I would have loved to spend this time with you and acted in the mistaken belief that you had just asked out of courtesy. If you were to allow me to make it up to you, I’d like to have a small, private belated celebration.”

Stiles tried to force a frown on his face and failed miserably. “Only small?”

“Oh, shut up and drink your coffee. And then, please, go shower and brush your teeth, because I will not kiss you smelling like that, but I really want to kiss you right now. Breakfast will be ready once you’re back.”

“Promise?” He asked, because he had to. He needed to know the older man wouldn’t just disappear while he was away, would still be there when he’d come down.

“I promise, Stiles.”


	3. Vacation

It could have been a night like any other if the adrenaline wasn’t still coursing through Stiles’ body, the sound of blood rushing in his ears almost drowning out the heartbeat he was strainedly listening to with bated breath. It could have been a night like any other if his hands weren’t still trembling, the same hands that had hours before pressed down on a gaping hole in the chest of his partner, bathed in red, so much red.

Yeah, it might have been a night like any other. The only difference was the fact that this day he had nearly lost Peter in yet another struggle with hunters trying to kill the human traitor and not thinking of the one werewolf doing everything in his power to protect him and keep him from harm.

“Sometimes, I can’t help but to want to leave this god forsaken city. Go someplace else. Anywhere else, really”, Stiles remarked bitterly, voice heavy with exhaustion. The silence felt wrong to him. It left him cold, despite the thick blanket they had curled up in, it let the room seem smaller, darker, despite the bedside lamp and its soft, glowing light.

Oh, not that Peter at first hadn’t insisted on him going home to his dad, who had been worrying himself sick ever since he had learned about the madmen that were after his son’s blood. Stiles didn’t even believe it had anything to do with some of the trust issues they had encountered in the early beginnings of their relationship, where his partner had been feeling deeply uncomfortable whenever he was showing what he considered to be some kind of weakness in front of him. No, with nearly 10 months having passed since then, he was pretty sure this was only his proud ego.

Werewolves, Stiles thought exasperatedly, what can you do? Be that as it may, he had gotten his way, as he almost always did these days, with rational logic and sound arguments or, as Lydia would like to say, with the puppy eyes he seemed to have developed solely for the purpose of convincing the man any time he needed.

Peter hummed lowly, his fingers tightening their grip around his waist for a moment. “You know that I’d take you anywhere you’d like. You’ve just gotta say so. Name a place and I’ll get you there”, he offered placatingly. The werewolf certainly wasn’t regretting his decision to step in front of Stiles, but he hated to have caused fear and pain and tears, nonetheless.

The younger man just sighed glumly. “Oh, but I honestly don’t think life would be better somewhere other than here.” And that was the problem, wasn’t it? It wasn’t really the city, it was them attracting the chaos their lives consisted of. He quickly changed the pattern he was drawing with his fingers on Peter’s shoulder, trying and failing not to linger on such negative a consideration.

“Well, you can never be sure if you don’t try it”, the other murmured, somewhat amused maybe. “For my part, I’ve always liked the idea of a world trip.” As his partner placed a kiss on the top of his head, Stiles felt a brief sting of guilt for keeping the man awake after hearing just how tired he sounded. To him, the werewolf was some kind of dream catcher, keeping away all the dark memories and all the images his mind made up. The least he could do was let his partner have a good night’s rest of his own to heal.

Thus, he kept quiet and counted the space between the man’s breaths, waiting patiently until he was certain the werewolf was asleep. Only then, in the middle of the night, he whispered, “I’m good, as long as I’m with you.” He quickly shut his eyes when he felt Peter shifting slightly. Maybe he’d just been sleep talking, after all, it wouldn’t have been the first time.

 

The next evening, though, he’d find the bookmark in his latest diary replaced by flight tickets, of all things. And when he’d tell his dad about it, the Sheriff would pull him into a side-hug and Stiles wouldn’t get more out of him than a smile and a “long overdue, my boy” and wouldn’t be able to shake off the suspicion that his partner and his father had been conspiring against him.


	4. Moving In Together

When Stiles told him that the Sheriff had begun repeatedly and regularly meeting up with a woman, Peter didn’t see the problem that the young man obviously thought was there. Aforementioned woman was relatively normal in comparison to their other less than normal acquaintances and posed no danger whatsoever to the Sheriff. Stiles wasn’t jealous either, as many a child was when their parents showed interest in someone else.

Even when his human revealed to him what he considered to be the problem, namely his wish to respect his father’s privacy and need for time to himself, Peter couldn’t quite follow that particular thought process. That was, until the young man started drawing up plans and making calls to figure out whose couch he could sleep on for how long.

Peter had to be forgiven for not stopping that madness right then and there, as Stiles lounged on his couch, phone cradled between ear and shoulder. He was a bit preoccupied with remembering and counting the nights he had spent alone the last month, which didn’t even come close to the number of nights spent together, mind you, and coming to the realization that he had already pretty much gained a roommate in the human.

A roommate who was apparently even less perceptive than him in such matters, for even a week and some casual comments on the part of himself later, Stiles still hadn’t picked up on the fact of his move to the apartment or how he had to come here and not the Sheriff’s house when he wanted to change his clothes after a day out with the pack. Thus, Peter devised a grand scheme for his human.

He bought flowers and sweets. He bought a plush wolf (in lieu of a teddy bear) because that was what every romantic comedy had thought him to do. Peter even took his young partner out to a nice restaurant, where unsurprisingly neither of them was truly comfortable, albeit for completely different reasons, and spent the whole night clearing his throat and tugging at his tie. He felt like his actions were more suited to a proposal than the simple suggestion he had to make.

After a somewhat disastrous dinner and no adequate opportunity for him to utter the offer he had been about to make all evening, Peter sat down next to a sleeping Stiles, whose form was already spread out over most of the bed. Deep into the night, he wrote him a letter in which the amount of babbling and ranting could’ve rivaled the young man himself.

Peter put said letter in an envelope, together with the info sheet of the house that had caught his eye in the week he had waited for the human to catch on. He debated where to leave it all day, whether on his pillow or rather in the pocket of his favorite hoodie?

In the end, Peter threw the envelope away in frustration, conveniently leaving it face up in the trashcan with Stiles’ name scrawled on the front in his sloppiest handwriting, which, of course, still looked more similar to a calligraphy template than anything else. While he was a mess himself, he let his young partner wonder if he’d meant it.

 

 

“Peter?” He cleared his throat. “I need your opinion on something I want to order!”

“What is it this time you’re gonna waste your money on?” The man was quick to peek his head around the corner, but, with a swift glance thrown over his shoulder, Stiles ascertained him to be smirking.

“Trust me, this is no waste. I feel almost as old as you are what with all the back ache”, he complained in a whine, though even the familiar teasing was barely able to hide the nervousness.

“What do you mean?” The man fully stepped into the room and came over to the desk Stiles had very much taken possession of. He wasn’t sure whether the frown on Peter’s face was due to curiousity or confusion and he seriously contemplated breaking the whole thing off.

Only on the edge of his consciousness did he take notice of his leg bouncing and pressed his hand down on it. He hadn’t been this jittery in a long time and it wasn’t helped by the fact that he was suddenly painfully aware of the fingers on his shoulders, trying to soothe him, no doubt. He wasn’t even sure whether Peter realized he was doing it or whether it had already become a habit of sorts.

“Well, if we’re officially moving in together, we need a different mattress. I thought of one of these split ones where one side is firm and the other soft.” Stiles had to compliment himself on not stuttering. Not much, anyway. Deep breaths, he reminded himself.

He fidgeted with the mouse, leading it across the screen without any destination in mind, but Peter pried his hand off and forced the chair he was sitting in around. His partner crouched down in front of him until he had to look him in the eyes.

The werewolf raised an eyebrow. “You do realize that, with the way you always creep over to my side, such a mattress would be of absolutely no use, right?”

 

“You know, you don’t have to do this.” Stiles stared at the sale contract, wide eyes every now and then flitting to the poised pen, as Peter read over the lines one last time. “I certainly don’t expect it from you.”

“I could deduce as much for it seemed like this didn’t even cross your mind.” The man signed with a flourish. 

Stiles released a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. “It didn’t if I’m being honest.”

“Well, I want this. I love you, Stiles. You already are in my head and my heart.” Peter grasped his hand and placed a kiss on his knuckles, electric eyes just emphasizing the truth of this confession, of something he’s always known. “So, I want you, in my life, my -; our new house and our bed, despite that awful mattress.”


	5. Commitment

Peter remembered all the times, before he himself had made that leap of faith and said 'the three words', that Stiles almost blurted it out in the middle of something mundane and domestic as clumsy as his two left feet. When time seemed to freeze, he hastily swallowed down that third word and instead tacked on “when we do this”. He resumed doing whatever it was that he was doing in that moment and pretended his heart wasn’t about to burst out of his chest for the rest of the night. But the point was that Peter remembered every single time.

Of course, him being himself, he had to wait to say it. For far too long if you asked him now, but, let’s be honest, if someone were to actually ask him, he wouldn’t deign to answer that question. Either way, just as he waited to tell Stiles that he loved him, he had to wait to tell him that he wanted to spend his life with him for as long as he would have him. Indeed, he waited until something terrible had happened and he simply couldn’t not tell him anymore.

 

Being a werewolf, Peter pretty much was as dangerous a predator as you could possibly be in a human form, or so he liked to think. Usually, though, he tended to at least attempt to hide that little fact. But not this time, oh no. They were already late as it was and if narrowed eyes and barely suppressed growling got them through the huge crowd of crazy shoppers just a little bit faster to get to their destination before the store closed, then so be it.

And to think that they were only going to all of that trouble for a simple birthday present. Because, of course, Stiles wanted it to be the perfect one. Admittedly, it was the Sheriff’s birthday and his partner really had put quite a bit of effort into figuring out just what it could be his father might want. He had kept prodding and prodding in that annoyingly charming way of his until finally the man gave in, leaving them with only two days to go.

That didn’t mean Peter didn’t want to knock some sense into the human’s head. Especially since he, having been on the receiving end of despairing stares from the Sheriff for the whole time of their last visit, knew exactly what would be the perfect gift. He saw it in fond looks and ruffled hair and tight hugs. Stiles, precious though he was to the both of them, was, unfortunately, also quite oblivious at times. He failed to realize that his presence alone could make people happy.

So deeply lost in his thoughts as he was, Peter would later congratulate himself on noticing the bus at all in the chaos of the city, but, the moment his senses alerted him to something going wrong, he could only hope it wasn’t too late. Stiles was already halfway across the street, practically dragging him by their entwined hands, when he abruptly dug his heels into the ground, forcibly yanked the human back towards him and used the momentum to turn them around to get his partner as far away from the street as he could in that one second he had, before he heard the bus rushing past them just inches away, felt the wind ruffle his hair, almost managing to pull him along.

For a heartbeat there, none of them dared to move or even breathe. Peter was able to fight hunters and other werewolves and everything else the supernatural world threw at them. He could not, however, keep the younger man safe from the modern world or all the other humans on their goddamn planet and he hated it. The shiver he felt going through Stiles’ body didn’t help matters, either, as did the human’s erratic heartbeat or the harsh exhale and the words whispered in a voice that was far too steady to be anything but pretense. “The light was green. I swear, it was.”

Peter just nodded, too shaken to do much but run his fingers over his partner’s back again and again and reassure himself that he was whole and healthy and that everything was as alright as it could be expected. He wasn’t even aware he was cursing that mad driver aloud or that a group of people were starting to give them a wide berth, but he couldn’t have cared less, anyway.

At some point, Stiles was drawing away slightly, although he nevertheless kept his hands fisted in his jacket, and looked up at him. Only then it got through to Peter that the human was talking to him, repeatedly telling him that he was fine, that they were okay. “I need you to calm down now, yes? Can you do that for me, please? You know you cannot lose control here, Peter.”

“I am not losing control. In fact, I have impeccable control.” He closed his eyes in irritation and easily ignored the times that he had indeed lost control these last months, probably more often than in the whole rest of his life since his first transformation on a full moon. Peter didn’t count the time after the coma and never would, seeing how he hadn’t even been quite himself then. Either way, if anyone had thought getting himself a pack once more would make him any less lethal, they had been woefully wrong.

At least he hadn’t murdered anyone in cold blood in a long time, but there were always those who believed one death equalled another death and to him, family was the one thing that would always be worth to kill for. And right there, with that thought, came another startlingly clear realization. It wasn’t so much hate for the lunatic who had almost driven them over that was forcing the shift, no, that would be too easy. He was actually just terrified of living without his partner.

It was Stiles himself who pulled him back to reality, having seemingly relaxed enough to sound almost amused. “Oh, is that so? Well, besides the fact that I can still see your fangs and I’m almost certain your eyes won’t have changed back yet, either, I’m not convinced that it’s just your fingernails poking me right now, you know.”

Peter instantly loosened his grip. He concentrated on the claws first, lest he hurt his human, but it was difficult because he had begun trembling and his vision turned blurry. All the while his mind was filled with a growing panic and so, once he had finally recovered, he cleared his throat and took a step backwards, grasping instead his partner’s hands as something to hold onto, to keep his own from shaking too badly.

“Stiles, do you remember what I told you when I signed the contract for the house?” He asked, since that was as good a start as any and maybe just rushing in wasn’t such a great idea, after all. But he couldn’t help it now, couldn’t stop. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to because for all he knew he’d never get a chance like this again, be it for his own cowardice or fate’s twisted ways.

Stiles hesitated, a frown on his face. “Yes. Of course, I do.” He was tense, the faintest suspicion obvious through his pulse. 

“Then will you marry me?”

 

 

Stiles needed a moment to understand what exactly Peter had been saying. Oh, he had heard just fine, because rough voice or not, he was attuned to the sound, the caressing whispers and hisses as sharp as a knife. But he couldn’t quite comprehend it, couldn’t wrap his head around the foreign concept or associate it with the man in front of him.

“No.” The word rushed out of him and he wanted to hit himself for it, but he kept thinking that it was for the best this way.

“Wha-? No?“ The werewolf pulled away from him and he couldn’t quite place the look he was getting, the emotions playing on his face. Devastation, maybe even betrayal, most certainly pain, but he refused to be persuaded by the fact that he had hurt him when it’d come to that anyway. “Stiles. I love you.”

Peter was taking another step backwards, but this time Stiles interfered, seeing how they were still so close to the street. “I know. I love you, too. That’s why I can’t let you do this.”

“What are you talking about?” There was confusion laced through the other’s words now and while that was infinitely better than before, Stiles still hated to have to explain this, to say out loud why this wouldn’t work, either way.

“You’re probably full of adrenaline right now, okay? Don’t dare try to deny it. The shift was enough proof for that, Peter. We’re both shaken and it’s really not the wisest thing to do to decide you want to marry me when we’re already this emotional, this irrational.” He tried to let some compassion show through his words, but he couldn’t help the cold, detached feeling accompanying such deductions that was starting to unfurl in his belly.

“What if I told you I already made that decision for myself? What if I told you I have a ring stashed away back at the house? What if I told you that I was one of these guys who bought such a thing just to then hide it in his sock drawer for weeks because he was too nervous and wanted to wait for the right moment?” The older one started to ramble in a way normally reserved for Stiles himself, taking his hands to place them on his chest, his heartbeat perceptible to the human even through his shirt, so rapid was it. “And what if I’m afraid that I’ll miss such an opportunity and don’t want to lose another chance at being happy with you till death do us part?”

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was supposed to think. He would have considered it to be some elaborate strategy for his partner was still terrifyingly good at such a thing, but his heart couldn’t be lying to him, not when Peter was that agitated. “That was what all the secrecy has been about?”

“You noticed.” A horrified lock crossed the other man’s face and if the situation were any other, he might have found it laughable.

As it was, a warm, fuzzy feeling started to fight the numbness that had seized hold of him at realizing how wrong he had been about everything. “Not just me. You’re not as sneaky or subtle as you apparently think you are. I mean, the most obvious sign was that you changed your whole bloody routine and wouldn’t stay in bed with me in the mornings any longer and would come to sleep only much later at night. I can only presume now that you wanted to dress quickly and not let me have a peek at your drawer, but there were other things, too. And I’m sorry, because I may have talked to Lydia about it, so, in case I cannot stop her from cornering you, you better prepare yourself.”

“What were you thinking?” The werewolf stared at him shrewdly, but his hands had found its way back to Stiles’ sides, running up and down comfortingly.

He rested his forehead against his partner’s shoulder, leaning into him. This was as much weakness as he would allow himself to show for now. “Well, what if I told you that I was one of these guys who can’t help but to keep doubting they deserve the person they’re with, that they’re worthy enough.”

“Then I’d answer that it’s even more of a reason to put that ring around your finger because you deserve everything and so much more than that. You are worth it to me. Don’t ever doubt my love, Stiles.”

“Then I’d say hell yes.”


End file.
